


Arms Wide Open

by Wheudonym



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Military, Butch/Femme, F/F, Female-Presenting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Female-Presenting Crowley (Good Omens), Friends to Lovers, Genderswap, Lesbian Character, Military, Serious Injuries, War, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-22 16:22:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22285642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wheudonym/pseuds/Wheudonym
Summary: Azira Fell has been in the British Army since she was eighteen. Antonia Crowley, her closest friend, has been watching her leave for the past twenty years. Saying goodbye was something they had gotten used to doing. It wasn’t easy. No, Azira would never call leaving, knowing she wouldn’t see her best friend for the better part of a year, easy. Well-practiced? Yes. Easy? No.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 96





	Arms Wide Open

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently, when I join a new fandom my first instinct is to write a Soldier Coming Home AU. Because I’m a sap. Sorry. Also the world needs more wlw content. That I’m not sorry about.

Azira didn’t know why she was here.

She should have rung Crowley.

Azira looked up at the building in front of her, charcoal gray and gleaming silver looming over her.

This wasn’t the first time seeing Crowley’s workplace, but it was the first time without Crowley by her side. Without her guiding the way, the lobby looked far more intimidating. The entire first floor was empty except for a receptionist desk sitting adjacent to the lifts. The walls and floors were made of marble, white and grey swirls shining against stainless steel accents.

Azira typically was fond of a different style. Minimalism wasn’t her cup of tea, to say the least.

(Azira was much more comfortable in small and cluttered places like her flat. There were usually stacks of books, blankets, and mugs on every surface. Crowley absolutely hated the mess. She said it was chaos. Azira adamantly disagreed. There was a system. Azira knew where everything went. No one else did, but what did that matter? It was her flat after all.)

This was a mistake, Azira told herself. She turned her back on the building and took one step. She hesitated.

But, Azira reasoned with herself, because of the way they left things, a phone conversation would be inappropriate. No, this was a conversation best had in person.

She turned back to the building.

Part of Azira (the part that Crowley had always said was secretly a bit of a bastard) didn’t want to give Crowley the opportunity to avoid her. If she called ahead, Crowly would make her excuses. (Suddenly there would be a conference in Edinburgh or she would be too busy for lunch, even though Azira knew Crowley had taken time off work while Azira was on leave without problem before.)

Another part of Azira whispered in her ear that they had left on an awkward note. She should not assume Crowley would want to see her, especially without any warning. Perhaps she was not welcome.

The building looked like it was leaning, staring her down like it might bend down to eat her whole.

She closed her eyes and rolled her shoulders, loosening the tension there. When she looked again, the building was as still as it had always been. She let out a breath and walked forward.

***

The IED had been hidden under a car.

Azira had been told later that the explosive had been rigged with a motion detector and Sargent Thomas had triggered it when she walked by the overturned truck. 

As the team’s medic, Azira had been far away when it happened, tending to an injured civilian. One moment she had been standing up, reaching out a hand to help up Fatema onto her feet, the next moment she was on her back. The wall they had been next to was no longer a wall. It was now a million small pieces of concrete and wire sharpnel. There had been so much dust Azira could hardly breathe. Her head pounded, her ears rang, and her leg felt like it was on fire.

When she opened her eyes, they stung and there was nothing but gray around her. She couldn’t hear anything. She tried to get to her feet, orient herself and find her team, but as soon as she tried to move, the pain overwhelmed her. 

There were times when she had herself think about what it would be like to be hit. She imagined it might be from a bullet. Maybe shrapnel from a grenade. Or even by someone’s own hands. But mostly she had wondered what she would think of in that moment. Some soldiers talked about their life flashing before their eyes, moments of their family and friends all pressed together in a millisecond. Would she think of her mother, who encouraged her to go into the army? Would she think of her team, who she had sworn to protect? Would her sole focus be Crowley, who was so often on her mind?

In that moment, Azira’s mind could only focus on the scorching pain. Nothing else. 

***

Azira didn’t actually know the purpose of the company for which Crowley worked. She knew Crowley was a lawyer, but besides the fact that she was apparently very good at what she did, Azira knew little else. The building didn’t give any clues either. It was a blank slate and Azira was a little bit convinced half the people in the building didn’t know what they did either.

When she walked through the revolving glass doors, Azira immediately felt out of place. She hadn’t thought about what to wear. (This wasn’t true even to the slightest degree. Azira thought about what she should wear all the time. She was very conscious of her her tendency to wear suits with bracers, which was a bit old fashion on top of being traditionally masculine. She was grateful to the army for giving her a uniform. She didn’t have to think when she donned her uniform. She could just be a soldier.)

Now she felt like the decision to wear her greens hadn’t been the right one. She should have worn her dress blues. Certainly that uniform would have fit here just a little bit better than this one. The camouflage was doing the complete opposite of its intended purpose and was making her stand out like a glowing green-and-tan beacon in a sea of marble.

The receptionist eyed her when she entered the lobby. Her worn tan boots were loud on the tile floors, echoing awkwardly across the long expanse of space. It felt like walking miles. Azira’s leg twinged a bit at the thought, and she had to restrain herself from pausing to rub her leg. The bandage would shift and she had been told by her doctors several times to ‘stop fussing.’ What they didn’t know was that Azira hadn’t a clue how to ‘stop fussing.’ It was something everyone in her life had tried and failed to do for the last forty years.

(Everyone except Crowley, of course. Crowley occasionally told her to ‘hold the fussing for later, Azira, right now we have tickets and I’m not missing the first half of the play. Your book will still be lost when we get back and then I’ll surely find it under the bookshelf like it was last time.’ Crowley was like that. She was somehow mean and snippy, while also being kind and gentle. She never asked Azira not to be anxious, or told her that her worries were silly. And Azira had come to find Crowley’s lackadaisical attitude calming. She knew Crowley would be there for her, just by virtue of the way she said things, as if they were obvious. ‘Of course it’ll be alright. Now stop dawdling.’)

“Hello,” Azira said too early. She was still a little too far away from the desk, but the silence had been killing her.

“Can I help you?” The receptionist eyed Azira with an expression that was either complete indifference or complete annoyance.

(The receptionist felt a mixture of both indifference and annoyance. She spent most of her workday on Instagram and occasionally answering the phone. Not that anyone could blame her. She was paid minimum wage and no one actually cared what she did as long as someone was at the desk making the building look as elegant and sleek as possible, and she was very good at this. Anyone who interrupted this routine by actually walking into the lobby instead of calling ahead was a waste of her time.)

“Oh, I was hoping you could direct me to Miss Antonia Crowley’s office?”

The receptionist blinked at her for a moment.

“You can’t go upstairs without an appointment. Company policy.”

Azira knew she should have called. Who shows up in person to greet some nowadays? She blamed the army. 

(She had been on tour when mobiles became popular and then on tour again when they went from only some people having them to everyone having them. She had gotten one only at Crowley’s insistence, but she rarely used it other than to contact people when she was on tour and occasionally to navigate in new places, but she still preferred a map. Years of relying on maps in the middle of the desert made her very adept at finding her way around.)

“Oh, I knew I should have rung ahead of time.”

“Are you here for that meeting with the government?”

(This was the extent of the receptionist’s knowledge of the company’s interworkings. Some people in uniform had been by last month and she figured there was some kind of government thing happening. Of course, this was leaps and bounds, in comparison to Azira’s knowledge of the company.)

“Oh no, not at all. I’m an old friend.”

“She’s never had friends round before,” The receptionist eyed Azira, as if she might be lying.

Azira tried to smile, but she wasn’t sure it came out right. What right did Azira have to bother Crowley at work? This truly had been a bad idea.

She opened her mouth to tell the receptionist sorry for the interruption, when she heard the sound of heels clicking on marble. The heels clicked in a rhythm that suggested a strut, like the person was slinking down a runway rather than simply walking from Point A to Point B.

Azira knew that strut anywhere.

***

They had been saying goodbye. It was something they had gotten used to doing. It wasn’t easy. No, Azira would never call leaving, knowing she wouldn’t see her best friend for the better part of a year easy. Well-practiced? Yes. Easy? No.

There had been something different about this time. There had been an undercurrent of unease. Crowley, who was usually jittery on the night before Azira left, was quiet and unusually still. 

(Crowley had never been the type to sit still. It wasn’t an energetic movement, it was more like a shark, always moving because that was how she breathed.)

That night in Azira’s flat, she was sitting on Azira’s overstuffed green sofa, her wine glass in both hands, as she listened to Azira ramble about one thing or another. Azira was rambling, but she distinctly remembered that half of her brain was dedicated to why Crowley was acting so odd. Azira wasn’t a complete fool, she knew Crowley was upset every time Azira left, but she typically cloaked it in a laid-back jovial attitude.

“Do you think you’ll always be in the army?” Crowley asked suddenly, unrelated to what Azira had been talking about.

(If Azira hadn’t been as drunk, she probably would have remembered what she had been talking about, but Crowley was looking at her with round amber-hazel eyes and something in them had made her mind completely blank.)

Azira blinked, “I’ve been in the army since I was eighteen.”

“I didn’t ask how long you’ve been a soldier, Azira.”

“But what else would I do? You know I’m a career soldier.”

“But even career soldiers retire.”

“Crowley,” Azira smiled fondly, “I’m forty seven, that’s not exactly the age for retirement.”

“Do you even like it?” Crowley leaned forward, and set down her wine which was never a good sign. “You never talk about it like you want to do it. You can’t possibly like leaving London for so long, because I know you like your books and fancy restaurantsss. And you may not be old enough to retire entirely but you’re almossst fifty, and you’re in war zonesss. You could- Sssomething might happen all becaussse you were-!” Crowley’s lisp (a childhood speech impediment that Crowley had firmly stamped out years ago and only came out when she was nervous) was in full force.

“Antonia!” she said sternly, although Azira was more shocked than anything. 

Crowley stopped.

Azira took a breath desperately wishing she was more sober, but also knowing it was the alcohol that had loosened Crowley’s tongue. Crowley had never voiced any of these concerns and now they were tumbling out, the night before Azira was set to be stationed in Afghanistan for the next year.

Azira stood on unsteady feet and walked the few feet to the sofa where she plopped down next to Crowley, who was now sitting back with her arms crossed and her feet kicked out. She looked like an upset child, and not a business woman in her forties.

“Crowley, my dear, if you were so upset why did you never say anything?”

“Not upset,” Crowley said, her words mocking.

“Alright,” Azira placated, “If you had these concerns about my career, why did you never say anything?”

“Because you never want to say anything bad about it! Even though I know you hate your S.O. and we both know he’s a dick. You prefer being home and you hate being in those war zones.”

Azira looked down, it was true that she didn’t love war. But who did? But she was a medic and she hoped every time she ran into danger that it was for the good of someone else.

“Crowley,” Azira reached out, hesitated.

The two of them were best friends, and had been for a very long time, but they rarely touched. They always hugged before Azira would leave, because it felt wrong to just wave or shake hands. But Azira typically kept her distance. She had been raised in a strict religious military household. She hadn’t known how to show affection through touch, especially in regards to romance, for a very long time. It had taken her even longer to find out that the reason none of it seemed to make sense was because she was attracted to women. Particularly, women with thin long legs, a smirk that said she was up to no good, and a pair of sunglasses that disguised amber eyes.

Azira reached out and took Crowley’s hand. “You know, typically these are questions one might have the night before her friend leaves on her first tour. Not after dozens and dozens.”

Crowley made a noise in the back of her throat which Aziraphale translated to mean, ‘I’m not being ridiculous. You’re being ridiculous.’

“Crowley, I don’t want you to worry.”

“Well it’s a bit too late for that, isn’t it? I’ve been watching you leave for almost twenty years.”

Azira was surprised. Not surprised that Crowley cared, exactly. Because Azira knew that, but she supposed she had never thought Crowley would care enough to be overwhelmed with worry, not like this. Was this a side of Crowley that had been hidden from her?

Azira squeezed the hand she was still holding. Her hands were long with thin fingers. Piano hands, someone might say. Azira knew she played too, not that she let many people know that. She always kept things close to the chest. Except she didn’t when it came to Azira.

Suddenly Crowley was in her personal space and before she could take in a breath to ask what she was doing, a nose was knocking into hers and lips were pressing to the corner of hers. There was one terrifying second where she hadn’t a clue what was happening, followed by a glorious second of bliss as she felt Crowley nibble at her lower lip, and then another terrifyingly second when Crowley pulled back at an alarming speed. She almost fell off the sofa with how fast she had moved away.

***

Azira had always kept her hair short. It had seemed easiest, and she had thought about letting it grow out, like she had when she was a young girl, but by the time it grew out to being a fluffy puff of curls, almost like a blonde halo, it was usually time for her next tour and she would get it cut to a proper military cut.

Crowley had always had her hair long. She had always been gorgeous, that had never changed even as they aged. She always wore black or dark gray, and the colors contrasted wonderfully with her bright red head and amber eyes. The way she held herself, cool and relaxed, exuding an aura of causal power. It was something Azira would never tire of seeing.

Azira remembered when they first met. They were so young then, in their late twenties. Azira had already been in the military for almost a decade. Crowley had already graduated law school and had made some of her first moves in the business world. Logically, they shouldn’t have become friends. But their paths kept crossing. Or rather, Crowley had kept making her path cross Azira’s.

Azira remembered clearly the first time she was due to leave after befriending Crowley. She hadn’t planned on doing anything the night before besides getting a good night’s rest in her own bed. Crowley had changed that plan rather quickly. She had taken Azira out to the nicest restaurant she could find, and asked her question upon question about herself. That was something Crowley had always been good at, asking the hard questions. Azira wondered if it was something she had been taught in law school or if that was just something innate to Crowley.

(Azira had her bets on it being an innate trait.)

In the end, Crowley had asked her every question in the world. What was her favorite music to listen to while reading? If you could change one thing in her life, what would she change? Did she dance? Why not? If she were on a desert island, what would she bring? Who would she bring? What was her favorite childhood game? What did she value most in a person? Had she ever broken a bone? What was her favorite Shakespeare play? What food reminded her the most of her mother? 

Every question, except anything to do with the military or her career.

At the time, Azira would think this had been Crowley’s way of distracting Azira from her upcoming tour.

(Later, decades later, Azira would wonder if it had been Crowley’s way of distracting herself from seeing her only friend leaving to fight in a war.)

***

The kiss couldn’t have lasted more than two seconds.

(In Azira’s mind, she would sometimes think about that kiss, and remember it only lasting a millisecond, barely enough time to even register what was happening. Other times, her mind would remember every single detail that those two seconds contained and it felt like it lasted forever.)

Crowley stumbled as she moved away, her usual grace lost as she tumbled to the floor.

She covered her mouth, as if it had acted on its own, “Shit.”

Azira touched her lips, staring at Crowley with what must have been owl-eyes.

Crowley ran a shaky hand through her hair, “I shouldn’t have done that. I’ve tried so hard to be good. I know you’re not, that you’re not...”

Azira, recovering from the shock slowly. It took her a moment to complete Crowley’s thought, with a whispered, “A lesbian?”

“Yes…” Crowley blinked at her. “Because you’re not. A lesbian.” Crowley watched her closely.

Azira looked down at her hands in her lap, unsurprised to see that they were twisting and wringing as if of their own accord.

“You aren’t, because you would have told me. Your best friend,” Crowley repeated, moving forward with the slowness of a predator prowling towards its prey. “Right, Azira?”

“Well, I’ve never really known what to call it,” Azira said a bit pathetically, “Part of me doesn’t really care about any of it.”

“It,” Crowley intoned blankly.

“Sex,” Azira clarified with an awkward smile. She tugged at her sweater to straighten it, “Well that’s not true. I enjoy sex but more when it’s about love than just physicality. It’s more enjoyable, for me at least. Never could get the hang of being causal. In general. I mean, you’ve seen my wardrobe, dear. I’m not very casual.”

“Sex…? With  _ women? _ ” Crowley looked shocked like these were all words she was learning for the first time.

“Well, it has been a while, I’ll admit,” Azira felt her face flame with an embarrassed blush. “As you pointed out, I’m across the world for so many months and I’m a bit of an acquired taste, as I’m sure you know.”

“You’re a fucking brilliant taste, don’t you even dare say otherwise,” Crowley snapped, looking angry as the devil.

“Oh, well, thank you, I think,” Azira’s brows pulled together.

Crowley grabbed her wine glass and downed the rest of it. She paced for a moment, before settling on the arm of the chair across from Azira, balancing on it as if that were the proper way to sit on a chair.

She pinched the bridge of her nose, right above the bump. “Why did you never say anything?”

Azira might have been too drunk to focus on this conversation. She had been too focused on the way Crowley’s long legs were propped up on the chair, her heels had been cast aside long ago. Her stockings had a run in them, starting at her ankle and running up her calf and disappearing under her skirt. 

Azira blinked, “Hm?”

“That you’re...you know!” Crowley gestured uselessly.

“Oh, that,” Azira said, “I thought you knew.”

“ _ What? _ ”

“I thought it must have come up by now.”

“It certainly has not!”

“Oh, well,” Azira brow pinched together. “Does it bother you?”

“Why the hell would it bother me? I’m a lesbian, for fuck’s sake.”

“No, I suppose it wouldn’t. I’m sorry, my dear. I’m just so used to not telling anyone. You know how my family is. And the military. I think I just got used to not mentioning it.”

“Right,” Crowley said, leaning back into the sofa, hand on her forehead. “Right, I forgot, I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Azira gave a weak smile. “I can see the confusion. I never dated anyone or even tried to, really. I have always preferred spending my time on leave with you, dear. I’m afraid I’m a bit of an odd duck.”

A noise bubbled out of Crowley until it turned into an unsteady laugh. She set down her empty wine glass, her laugh filling the tiny flat. “Fuck, Azira, I’m in love with you.” 

Her laugh cut off. 

She held her head in her hands.

“Have been. For decades. God, isn’t that a thing to say?  _ Decades _ .”

Azira stared at her, wondering if she stared long enough those words would start making more sense. “Pardon?”

Crowley moved forward, slithered across the sofa so that she was leaning over Azira, one hand resting on Azira’s hip and the other balancing herself on the sofa back. When Azira didn’t move away or seem at all repulsed by this action, Crowley leaned in even closer.

“You must know, angel… You must know that you’re the world to me.”

“I suppose I must do,” Azira whispered, looking down for a second at Crowley’s lips before looking back up at those amber eyes.

This time when Crowley leaned forward for a kiss, it was slow and deliberate. Azira had a chance to kiss back and she revelled in it. Crowley tipped her head, their noses brushing, and Azira reached up, cupping her jaw gently. She opened up to Crowley’s soft kisses, whining softly when Crowley licked her upper lip with a teasing tongue.

“Crowley,” Azira’s voice was shaky. She wasn’t sure, if someone asked her to stand, that she could have.

“Angel,” Crowley nuzzled Azira’s cheek with her lips. Azira knew her face was going to be smeared with Crowley’s lipstick and she was a bit desperate to see the evidence in the mirror. There was nothing in the world she would love more than to have that stain on her.

***

Azira turned away from the receptionist to see Crowley strutting across the lobby. 

Crowley looked as beautiful as ever, in her black pencil skirt and slim blazer. Her curls were let loose down her back and the large glass windows let in the light at just the right angle that it made it appear like she had a flaming halo. If only she could see Crowley’s amber eyes, but like always she was wearing her sunglasses.

(Crowley always claimed hiding her eyes always made her clients nervous and Crowley loved watching proud businessman looking back at their own faces in her glasses as she stared them down.)

One hand adjusted an earbud while the other held up her mobile, where she was scrolling through something quickly, “Well you tell them, that if it was such a big deal they should have mentioned it during out first meeting- No, absolutely not. Oh,  _ go to hell. _ ” She stabbed at her earbud, ending the call furiously.

Azira smiled despite herself. Crowley was stunning. Azira had been a fool. How did she think she could show up and talk to Crowley calmly when she was looking like that? Azira’s heart was beating as if she was in the middle of a firefight. She felt exposed in only her greens. She needed Kevlar for the emotion shredding through her right now.

That’s when Crowley looked up.

***

Azira pulled a tissue from the side table and wiped her face, looking down to see the wine-colored lipstick. Crowley pulled Azira’s hand away, her thumb pressing to Azira’s round cheek. She wondered if there was a lipstick mark there.

“Leave it,” Crowley whispered.

Azira felt her face pinch as she looked up at her, “My dear,” Azira said softly, “You certainly have timing.”

Crowley winced, and pulled away.

“No, don’t,” Azira grabbed her wrist and held her close. “I only meant... Oh, Crowley I have to leave in...” she glanced at the clock that hung above the door, her camo duffle sitting next to the entry table. “I leave in four hours.”

Crowley turned away, but with Azira holding her arm, she couldn’t go far. Azira watched as Crowley’s lips trembled and her eyes closed. Azira had never seen her like this.

“My dear, why is this time so hard for you?”

Crowley shook her head, “I don’t know, Azira. I don’t know.”

“Come here,” Before she could talk herself out of it, Azira pulled Crowley close, so that those long legs were nestled in her lap and Crowley’s head rested on her shoulder. For a moment, Crowley was still as a statue, before she relaxed and pressed her face into Azira’s sweater-soft chest and her hand curled around Azira’s soft waist.

They stayed like that, in complete silence, for the rest of the night. They shifted intermittently but only to settle further into each other's arms. Once Crowley took in a breath as she was about to speak, but she just let out a sigh and pressed her forehead into Azira’s chest. Azira squeezed her close and tried not to think too hard, and just let herself feel.

An hour before Azira had to leave, she gently moved Crowley’s legs off her laps, neither saying a word. Without looking behind her, at what was surely Crowley curled up on her sofa, she walked into her bedroom to shower and dress. As she did before every tour, she checked her flat: windows locked, food cleared out, appliances off.

When she finished, Crowley was leaning against the front door, her arms crossed and her sunglasses firmly back in place. She wasn’t looking at Azira, instead looking down at her neatly manicured black nails.

“What now?” Crowley asked.

“Drive me to the airport?” Azira said, hoping her voice sounded even.

Crowley looked up and stared at Azira for so long that she wondered if Crowley would deny her.

“You know what I meant.”

Azira deflated, and sighed, “I suppose we will have to talk when I come back. This isn’t exactly a conversation I wish to rush and then leave when I know that I won’t be back for a year.” 

Crowley nodded, her face unreadable. She opened the door, “After you.”

She drove them to the airport, but when they arrived, she hesitated for a long time in the kiss-and-ride. 

Normally, Azira would say, ‘See you in a while, I suppose. Don’t get into too much trouble while I’m gone.’ And usually Crowley would respond, ‘Where’s the fun in that?’ And that would be it. But here they were, without any precedent to fall back on.

Eventually, Azira leaned over and pulled Crowley’s sunglasses off her nose, folding them without looking away from those amber eyes. They were shining, something that was usually hidden. 

“Don’t get into too much trouble, dear.” She failed at keeping her tone lighthearted.

Crowley opened her mouth, but the words choked her, and only a funny small noise escaped her. Instead she pressed forward and pressed a kiss to Azira’s lips. Once, twice, and then a lingering third on her cheek.

“It’s no fun without you to scold me.”

Azira smiled weakly. She nodded, “Alright,” She tried to pull away but her limbs seemed to want to stay right there. “Alright.”

A car blared their horn behind them.

“I should go,” Azira said, hesitating before she pulled away. When she got out of the car and grabbed her duffle from the back seat, she saw Crowley holding firmly onto the steering wheel before slipping out of the car.

Crowley came around the car and pulled Azira into a hug, normally one of the few times they were close to one another. It felt different now, as Azira’s arms wrapped around Crowley’s slim waist and Crowley’s arms wrapped around Azira’s shoulders.

“Stay safe, angel,” Crowley said she she pulled away.

Azira smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind Crowley’s ear. The car had stopped blaring its horn (Azira had a feeling they had seen Azira’s uniform and had relented. For now.)

With that, Azira pulled away, hefted her duffle onto her shoulder and walked away, convinced that if she looked back, she might just run to Crowley and never go back.

***

It wasn’t until later, when she landed in Afghanistan, that she realized she had never told Crowley that she loved her back. She had never initiated any of their embraces. In the moment her feelings had felt so obvious. She had kissed her back, hadn’t she? But the more Azira looked back on that night, the more it blurred.

Over the months, the fact that she hadn’t said anything to Crowley muddled her memories. Perhaps that night had meant something different to Crowley. Perhaps, she had changed her mind. Perhaps, if they were to enter into a romantic relationship, Crowley would discover Azira was too much trouble. She was away for months at time. She was odd and full of quirks. She wasn’t as experienced. Surely, it would be a mistake for Crowley to love her.

Azira started many letters in that first month. She never sent any of them, when usually she tried to send out a letter a week. 

When Azira was away, they would exchange letters. It was a bit antiquated, and Crowley had tried to convince Aziraphale to change to email and video-chat, but Azira had pointed out that those things were limited when she was in Afghanistan. A letter she could write every week without fail.

Crowley eventually conceded to the ancient practice. (Her words, not Azira’s.)

Crowley also made Azira video-chat with her when she could, even if it was just for fifteen minutes. Azira would later admit it was a good idea, and that she loved talking with Crowley “face-to-face.” Crowley didn’t like being praised so forwardly, and stubbornly pretended it wasn’t her who had adamantly insisted on the video-chat.

Eventually Azira wrote her typical first letter, telling Crowley that she was settling in fine, her team was doing well, and she wondered how Crowley was doing. She never mentioned their last night. She had promised Crowley that they would talk about...well, they would talk about  _ it  _ later. Best to leave it for later. 

(Ten months later, Azira would wonder as she lay in bed and was pumped full of morphine, if this had been the right choice. Would she rather tell Crowley she loved her via letter or never get the chance at all? It really wasn’t much of a choice really, but it had been too late by that point.)

***

It would be a drastic understatement to say that Crowley looked blindsided. Perhaps Azira should have called.

“Oh, hello dear. I was just telling this young lady that I had come to see you, but I’m afraid I should have made an appointment.”

“ _ Azira _ .”

It wasn’t said loudly. In fact, it was barely spoken at all, but the hollow room projected it, like a whispered prayer in an empty cathedral.

“Yes, uh, hello,” She gave an awkward wave. It was so nice to see Crowley and her heart swelled at the sight of her.

“You!” Crowley stuttered, overcoming her surprise, “You’re not supposed to be here!”

Crowley moved forward at an alarming speed for a woman in heels. Crowley tore out her earbuds and dropped her phone. Then she was running. Azira, surprised to say the least, barely had a chance to widen her stance and open her arms before Crowley was jumping into her arms. Instinctively, Azira encircled Crowley’s slim waist and hoisted her up. Crowley was taller than her, especially in her heels, but at this angle she was towering over Azira. Her red mane of hair fell around Azira’s face like a curtain, and Crowley’s face hovered above her own.

Crowley’s teeth were bared. Azira couldn’t tell if she was smiling or holding back a sob.

“Azira,” She choked out.

“Hello, my dear,” Azira said breathlessly. She was tempted to pull off Crowley’s glasses but that would require one of her arms, which were rather occupied at the moment. She rather liked holding Crowley like this, pressed against her front and her legs dangling a bit uselessly.

A small, choked noise came from Crowley’s lips, her teeth still bared.

“I’m only a few months early,” Azira consoled, shocked to see Crowley so distraught and a little overwhelmed by having Crowley in her arms. Her perfume flooded her senses. Azira wanted to drown in it.

“Early for you usually means a month late. You have no concept of time at all.” Crowley buried her face in Azira’s neck, and if she hadn’t been in her arms Azira didn’t think she would have noticed the fine tremor running through Crowley’s body.

Crowley leaned back to look into Azira’s eyes and Azira tried to balance but as she shifted, she put a bit too much weight on her bad leg. She wobbled for a moment before she realized she was going to fall. Gracelessly, she dropped Crowley, who yelped in surprise. Azira tried to grab onto the nearest stable object. Unfortunately, the minimalist lobby didn’t have much of anything and Azira grabbed onto Crowley’s arm to keep from falling flat on her face. She still crumbled to the floor, but at least she didn’t break her nose on the way down. She bit back a hiss, as the stitches pulled a bit too tight. If they came loose she wouldn’t hear the end of it from the surgeon.

“Azira!”

It took her a moment to catch her breath. She felt sweat prick on the back of her neck and everything was a little dim for a moment. She tried to hide her wince with a smile, as she looked up at Crowley, “Whoops, sorry. Didn’t mean to plop you down like that.” 

Crowley, who was always stronger than she seemed, gripped Azira’s arm and lifted her back up. Azira’s knee was shaking terribly, but Crowley took most of her weight by leaning Azira against her side. With the burning in her leg, she didn’t have much capacity to protest.

“What just happened? Are you…? Are you  _ injured? _ ” Crowley said, her voice rising several octaves by the end.

Azira shifted her weight so it was mostly on her good leg. Crowley’s nails dug into her arm, and Azira had a feeling she wasn’t going to be allowed out of arm’s reach. 

Azira winced, more at Crowley’s tone than the pain in her leg, “I’m on medical leave,”

Crowley paled visibly, “Medical...leave...”

“Well, yes, that’s why I’m home early, you see. I haven’t even had a chance to go by my flat yet but your office is so close to the hospital, I thought I would pop in for a visit.”

A series of indignant noises escaped Crowley. There was a mix of disbelief and fury. “You haven’t even made it back to your flat? Azira, for fuck’s sake, what possessed you to leave the hospital? Shit, did I hurt you? Sit down.”

Crowley, led her behind the receptionist’s desk where the receptionist pulled the spare chair over for her, looking far more concerned than annoyed at this point.

“Make yourself scarce,” Crowley snapped at the receptionist 

“You don’t have to-”

“Of course, ma’am,” the receptionist was gone before Azira could continue her protest.

“Crowley.  _ Really _ ,” Azira scolded, “You must be nicer.”

Crowley ignored her comment, and knelt down next to Azira. Her pencil skirt made it difficult but she balanced on the backs of her heels. She reached out, as if to touch Azira’s knee, before she thought better of it and rested her hand on the arm of the chair. “What the hell were you thinking? I would have picked you up from the hospital. How long have you been in London?”

Azira shifted in the office chair uncomfortably, “Only a week. I’m sorry I didn’t ring you. I was in surgery for part of it. And well…” Azira sighed, changing her mind before finishing that last sentence. She didn’t want to say ‘I didn’t know if you wanted to hear from me.’ She rubbed her leg, feeling the bandage underneath.

Crowley swallowed, and her hand clenched on the chair arm. She gritted, “I hadn’t heard from you.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Her usual weekly letter had been left in her duffle, incomplete. She hadn’t sent one for over a month now. “When they found me they sent me directly to the field hospital and before I had time to do much more than pack my duffle they flew me back to London.”

“No, you don’t understand.  _ I hadn’t heard from you _ .” She repeated with emphasis. “I was worried something had happened. I  _ always _ think something happened when your letters are late so I told myself I was being stupid. You have always been fine,” Crowley nodded, looking like she was trying to be calm, but her lips pulled down in a harsh frown with every word.

Azira’s heart tightened in her chest. “I’m fine, my dear. Truly,” Azira implored, reaching out to touch Crowley’s cheek, “See? Right in front of you.”

Crowley’s face said she wasn’t having any of it. (She rarely did.)

She demanded, “What happened?”

Azira sighed. She placed her hand on her bad leg. “There was an IED. Shrapnel. Took two surgeries to get it all out. Took part of me with it, I’m afraid.”

Crowley nodded, once, as if processing the information. Then she seemed to break. Azira couldn’t see her eyes, but she saw a tear slip out from under her sunglasses. She covered her mouth as a small noise escaped the back of her throat.

“It’s nothing, really,” Azira pled desperately, “It could have been much worse,” she winced as she said it, knowing immediately it was the wrong thing to say.

“I didn’t even know you were injured. You’ve been in and out of surgery and I didn’t even know,” Crowley choked on her words. “You could have been- and I wouldn’t have known for days-” Crowley’s head fell forward, resting just a breath away from touching Azira. 

“Oh,” Azira hesitated only a moment before she shifted her good leg underneath Crowley's head, and then ran her hand into Crowley’s hair, tucking Crowley’s head into her lap. 

“Angel,” Crowley whispered, her nose pressed to Azira’s greens and her hands clutching the fabric.

“My dear,” Azira whispered back, “I’m here. I’m here.” She ran her nails over her scalp and brushing away the strands from her neck. Azira curled in so she could press a kiss to Crowley’s hair.

Crowley reached up and gripped Azira’s hand. She lifted her head and tilted her head up, their noses brushing, “Please tell me I can kiss you.”

This time, it was Azira who moved forward. Months and months of reliving a night where she hadn’t said or done all she needed to say and do had made her desperate. She pulled Crowley towards her, kissing her firmly. When her sunglasses pressed into her face, she pulled back just enough to pull them off, looking into Crowley’s amber eyes. They were a little red, but they weren’t unhappy. In fact, they looked soft as Crowley pressed a kiss to Azira’s hand, which was still in hers. How had Azira never noticed that look in Crowley’s eyes before?

Azira touched her jaw, “My dear, I am so sorry for not saying this sooner, but I do love you terribly.”

Crowley’s face broke into a smile, “You didn’t have to say it for me to know.”

Relief flooded her chest, “Oh good, I was a bit worried.” Azira said, before pulling her into another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked it, please let me know what you enjoyed about it!


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